Second Chance
by Settiai
Summary: When Cordelia decides to play matchmaker, nothing can stand in her way. :: Doyle/Harry


Title: Second Chance

Author: Settiai

Disclaimer: "Angel," and other related characters are all properties of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other related corporations. No infringement is intended. This story, such as it is, was written as a sign of respect and love for the characters, the show, and their creator. I claim no ownership of the aforementioned show and characters.

Rating: PG-13

Explanation: This is my story for the Doyleathon II on LiveJournal, and it was written for blaar-rosir.

Summary: When Cordelia decides to play matchmaker, nothing can stand in her way.

Feedback: Comments and helpful criticisms are always appreciated.

* * *

When Cordelia stepped into the office, the first thing she noticed was that it felt completely deserted. She shivered slightly as she pulled off her lightweight jacket, and her eyes moved over the room as she made her way toward the desk. "Doyle," she said hesitantly, "are you here?"

Her voice seemed to be swallowed by the room's emptiness, and there was more than a little wariness in her movements as she dropped her purse in a chair. "I'm going to strangle him," she muttered as she grabbed the coffeepot. "He promised that he'd come in early until Angel got back from Sunnydale."

Shaking her head, she made her way toward the elevator. Halfway there, however, she froze in mid-step and glanced back towards Angel's office. She headed for the small room, suspicious.

Cordelia glanced through the partially opened door, and she shook her head when she saw Doyle slumped over Angel's desk. An almost empty bottle of liquor sat near him, and she could practically smell the reek of alcohol on him from where she stood. "I should have known," she muttered.

Cordelia reluctantly walked over to the desk. She grabbed the empty bottle and glanced down at Doyle for a moment. After a second or two, she shrugged and tossed the glass bottle into the trashcan sitting beside the desk. It shattered loudly as it crashed into the bottom of the container, and Doyle's eyes shot open at the sound.

He jerked his head upward, and his gaze frantically moved over the room for a second or two before he saw Cordelia. Comprehension dawned on him as he caught sight of the expression on her face, and he let out a muffled groan before letting his head sink back down onto the desk. "You could have just stuck a sword through my head," he said weakly. "It might have helped with the hangover."

"And here I was thinking that not drinking was the best way to get rid of a hangover," she replied dryly.

Doyle reluctantly met her gaze, and he gave her an apologetic grin as he pulled his head up again. "Isn't this where you call me an idiot and start ignoring me for the rest of the day?" he asked with a tired sigh.

Cordelia stared at him for a moment, but the disapproving look on her face faded after a few seconds. "Not exactly," she said softly. A slight smile appeared on her face before she could stop it, and she rolled her eyes as she grabbed Doyle's arm. "This is where I help drag you down to Angel's apartment so that you can try to make yourself appear at least partially human."

For some reason, Doyle paled at her words.

* * *

Doyle shook his head as he watched Cordelia lean back in her chair. "Thanks again," she said into the telephone. "I'll see you in a little while."

As she hung up the phone, she glanced over at the doorway and grinned. "Angel doesn't have a hairdryer?" she asked in amusement.

Doyle shrugged sheepishly as he reached up and touched his damp hair. "Good guess," he said dryly. "Do you have any coffee?"

Cordelia gestured toward the coffeemaker, and he gave her a faint smile as he walked over an poured himself a cup. Doyle closed his eyes for a moment as he took a sip, and he couldn't help but relax slightly as the liquid made its way down his throat. Then he silently sent up a prayer of thanks that his taste buds apparently weren't working.

"You're still in love with her," Cordelia said suddenly, causing him to choke on his coffee - though that might have been because his taste reinstated itself at the same time that she spoke.

"Excuse me?" Doyle asked, his eyes flying open as he turned to stare at her.

A faint smile appeared on Cordelia's face as she leaned back in her chair. "With Harry," she said with a shrug. "You have to be. That's the only reason you'd drink yourself into a coma."

"I thought that I'd celebrate the opening of a mailbox with a drink or two," Doyle said with a wry grin.

"A drink or two, yes," Cordelia shot back. "But an entire bottle?"

He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. "Could you go get my purse out of Angel's office?" Cordelia asked suddenly.

Doyle blinked at the sudden change in subject. "What?" he asked in confusion.

"My purse," she said matter-of-factly. "I left it laying behind Angel's desk when I dragged you downstairs."

"Sure, I'll go get it," Doyle said with a shrug. As he turned and headed for other room, he thought that he saw a triumphant grin appear on Cordelia's face for just a moment. When he glanced back, however, the expression had disappeared.

Doyle shrugged and turned back around. He walked directly into Angel's office and made his way over to the vampire's desk. When he didn't see her purse, however, he knelt down and glanced around. "Nothing," he muttered softly.

Doyle straightened up as the sound of the door closing caught his attention. Shaking his head, he walked over to the door, turned the knob… and paused.

"Cordelia," Doyle said irritably. "Why did you just lock me in Angel's office?"

For a moment, he didn't think she was going to answer him. Then, from the other side of the door, he heard a light peal of laughter. "You'll find out soon enough," Cordelia called out from the other room.

* * *

"Thanks for dropping by," Cordelia said with a relieved smile. "He was practically drowning in a pile of booze when I walked in this morning, so I thought you might be able to talk to him."

"I can try," Harry said doubtfully, "but I don't know if he'll listen to me."

Cordelia grinned at her as she opened the door to Angel's office. "At least try," she said as she gently pushed the older woman through the door.

Harry turned around in surprise as the door shut behind her, and she quickly grabbed the doorknob. "What's going on?" Harry asked in confusion as the knob refused to twist.

There wasn't an answer from the other side of the door, and she finally let out an annoyed sigh. "I'm going to strangle that girl," she muttered under her breath as she turned toward Angel's desk.

When she saw the familiar form leaning against the desk, his eyes closed in peaceful sleep, she felt comprehension dawn on her. "I'm really going to strangle her," she repeated, though her words weren't quite as venomous as she knelt down and stared at Doyle's face.

She reached out and gently brushed a strand of black hair out of his face, and for just a moment she couldn't move her gaze away from him. After a few seconds though, she pulled her hand back toward her. Shaking her head slightly, she stared at him for one more second before acting.

"Come on, Francis, time to wake up," she said as she reached out and gave her ex-husband a gentle shake.

Doyle's eyes shot open. "Okay, but the turtles have got to go," he blurted out as his body jerked forward.

Harry raised an eyebrow as she rocked back on her heels. "Do I even want to ask?"

He blinked a few times in confusion. "Harry?" he finally asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I think Cordelia's trying to play matchmaker," Harry said dryly.

Doyle stared at her for a second before leaning back against the desk. "Oh God," he muttered. "She's never going to let us out of here."

Harry shook her head as she moved over beside him and leaned back against the desk as well. "Probably not," she agreed.

The room sank into a comfortable silence for several seconds before Doyle cleared his throat. "Do you have any breath mints?" he asked uncomfortably. "I think something died in my mouth."

"That would be the whiskey," Harry said sweetly as she opened her purse and began digging through it.

Doyle stared at her for a second before shaking his head. "Whatever Cordy told you, it isn't true."

Harry raised an eyebrow as she glanced at him. "So you didn't try to drink yourself into an early grave last night?" she asked.

"Funny," he said dryly. "Breath mint?"

"I'm looking," she said with a sigh as she glanced back down at her purse. She reached into it, and after seconds she triumphantly pulled out an object. Her face immediately reddened, however, but Doyle grabbed it from her before she could shove it back into her purse.

"That's a pez dispenser," he said as he popped out a piece of candy and threw it into his mouth.

Harry rolled her eyes as she grabbed the candy dispenser from his hands and put it back into her purse. "One of your former students gave it to me after you moved out," she said with a sigh.

Doyle blinked in surprise. "Which one?" he asked curiously.

"I don't remember her name," Harry said with a shrug. "It was a cute little girl. Long blonde curls, green eyes… She had a slight mid-western accent."

"Rachel Phelps," he said softly.

Harry glanced over at him for a second and smiled. Then she grabbed his hand and gently squeezed his hand. He looked at her for a second before shaking his head as they sank into silence.

"So, any idea why Cordelia's doing this?" Harry asked after a few minutes.

Doyle gave her a slight grin. "For some reason, she's convinced that I'm still in love with you. And once she gets an idea in her head…"

"I see," Harry said with a nod.

The two of them dropped back into silence for several minutes. "So, are you?" she asked suddenly.

"Am I what?" Doyle asked in confusion.

Harry rolled her eyes. "Still in love with me."

He blinked, and a few spots of color appeared on his face. He spluttered a little, but he didn't have a chance to answer before she started speaking again.

"Because I'm still in love with you," she continued softly, an unreadable expression on her face.

Doyle stared at her for a second with a startled look on his face before slowly leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. He immediately pulled away with a start, and Harry blinked. "Maybe we should give talking another chance?" she suggested softly.

* * *

Cordelia grinned as she opened the door a crack. Doyle was laying beside Angel's desk, his shirt missing and his eyes closed in sleep. Harry was asleep as well, and her clothes were in a similar state of disarray as she lay there with her back against his chest.

"Mission accomplished," Cordelia said with a smile as she closed the door.

She walked back over to her desk and picked up the bottle of water she had left there. As she took a sip, the front door opened and a familiar form slinked in. "Back from Sunnydale already?" Cordelia asked in surprise, drawing a startled look from Angel.

"Cordelia," he said in puzzlement. "It's two in the morning. What are you doing here?"

"Getting ready to go home," she said with a smile. "I just had to… fix up a few people."

Angel blinked, but he didn't ask any questions as he made his way towards his office. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Cordelia called over her shoulder as she paused in the doorway. "I just unlocked it."

He paused for a second before opening the door a crack and peering in. Angel quickly shut the door completely and made his way toward the elevator. "They're going to strangle you in the morning," he said dryly.

Cordelia merely laughed and walked out the door.


End file.
